Murtagh Muntah
by bleedingRose11
Summary: Eragon cooks up trouble, and the ever ohsodashingresponsiblebrother Murtagh comes down with a diarrhea, a fever and a mental disturbance. Let’s see if the shade slayer can slay diarrhea too...Rated K for some swearing


x.X **Murtagh Muntah **X.x

Disclaimer: Eragon belongs to Christopher Paolini, the OOC-ness and the plot of this fic is ours. OURS.

**Summary: Eragon cooks up trouble, and the ever oh-so-dashing-responsible-brother Murtagh comes down with a diarrhea, a fever and a mental disturbance. Let's see if the shade slayer can slay diarrhea too...**

A/N : We just thought it would be funny to title the fic 'Murtagh Muntah', because Muntah in our native language, Indo, means barf(ing). And YES, it does connect with the plot. By the way, We're insane, and this story is too.

oOoOoOoOo _changing scene_

( italic writing ) _character in thought, or sarcasm_

Others will be referenced normally.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"Brother!!" Eragon screamed through the silence of the dark woods, except that it was actually in the afternoon. So you can imagine how thick the leaves are up there, covering and shielding them from the sun, SPF 150+ and all, but not from tragedies.

And trust me, tragedies are about to struck.

Murtagh shuffled his way through the bushes, drenched in sweat and badly in need of a shower. But fate decided to be cruel and let Murtagh eat first with the reeking smell of sweat rather than letting him have a dip in the river, if only he could find one for the last 3 weeks.

"Yes?" his eyebrows were raised, voice gruff, annoyed that his _darling _little brother had interrupted his training.

Eragon's eyes had an unusual twinkle to it, one that made Murtagh very VERY suspicious and aware of his weary and vulnerable conditions after training to lift the 10 grams of leaves up and down an ant hill.

"I made soup for lunch"

Murtagh felt a cold pit in his stomach, knowing he must wriggle his six-pack out of this. But then, heaven sent him a miracle in the form of an idea inside his ball-sized brain.

His ping-pong-ball-sized brain decided to use his suddenly cunning wit. "For lunch you say?"

Eragon nodded eagerly, meekly smiling at Murtagh, who had an evil smirk hanging about his handsome face.

"Well then, I'll be off, seeing as you made soup _for lunch_ and not for me"

A glorious beam with angles floating about came down to shine the lime-light on Murtagh, and the 'hallelujah' theme song flared at full-blast of the high-pitched heaven choir.

'_Then I won't have to eat the soup'_ Murtagh turned ballerina-style; his billowing cloak revealed a handmade cross-stitch of Winnie the Pooh and friends on the inside, and took a step back.

"Wait", a teary-eyed Eragon reached out his red-painted finger nails – shows fingernails painted with authentic Maybelline red nail polish, varnish coated as well – at Murtagh, tears welling in his eyes, sparkling at the instant hit of the light.

Except that there was no light, and the scene now just looks like one of those you'd see in a damned soap opera with an exceptionally low budget, a life-less Barbie doll as a director, and no props at all.

Murtagh, not understanding the fine art Eragon was trying to imitate; and badly failing at; only raised his eyebrows even further above.

"Please try a little bit at least, it's chicken soup, I made it from-"

"STOP!" Murtagh raised his palm to stop Eragon's babbling of ingredients, he didn't even want to know once he saw the bubbling, fizzing, grey, stinking broth that lay atop the camp fire. Murtagh was stunned, '_Chicken soup my ass, that thing looks VILE'._

His eyes looked at the poorly made broth with a gaze of disgust, annoyance and aggravation. The fissure he called a mouth seemed to run dry at once, bleeding at the inside just at the horrible sight of Eragon's Magnificent – cough cough hack – Soup.

Before Murtagh could even reject this plead, Eragon made a puppy dog face and revealed inside his cloak a…

A pin that says, "Elder Brothers are cool, responsible" and other ideal elder brother qualities. Sadly, it does include taking care of your little brother and holding responsibility and guiding and making him happy.

That was what Murtagh was deeply afraid of, except that he wasn't as afraid of it as much as he was afraid of Teletubbies, or of Heffalumps. He was truly a Winnie the Pooh fans.

Murtagh let out a sigh full of carbon dioxide again, then he promptly got fined for releasing so much global-warming-endangering gas in a day by the prevent-global-warming committee.

But our story must continue.

And so, I shall pass on the suffering of Murtagh and his smiling facades (rotting insides I tell you, the pain he suffered that man) and go to the aftermath of this untimely demise. Partly because if I had described our gorgeous Murtagh's agony during his soup-eating experience, I would have had to change the rating to NC-50, and it would have not been able to go on if he did only eat one spoon.

**oOoOoOoOo**

"Umm… Murtagh" Eragon shook Murtagh's shoulders.

Silence.

Murtagh felt his stomach rolling, spraining, burning. It felt like how his friend had described a light stomach ache the first time.

_Flashback._

"_Um… How does a stomach ache feel like?" Murtagh asked._

_His friend laughed, "It feels as if an ant had bitten your stomach"_

_Murtagh let out a sigh of relief, but yet, due to the bad luck we're going to give him for the rest of story, his friend was apparently not finished with the dreaded, scorned explanation on the feeling of a stomach ache._

"_But then after the ant bites it, someone comes and cuts your stomach to pieces, then soaks it in acid, sprains it, and pinches it a gazillion times"_

_Murtagh paled, almost as pale as he is now. Except that that was an explanation f a light stomach ache, and the one he has now, was no light stomach ache._

_End flashback._

Murtagh dropped the empty bowl of soup; complete with the hole on the bottom of the bowl, possibly created by the lethalness of the soup; to the ground, clanging.

'_So that's how a light stomach ache feels like'_, his mind swallowed the thoughts, _'Too bad this is 1000x times the pain'_

Before a sales guy with the oh-so-slick hair and pink shirt (and the sparkly tie) can come up and offer him a medicine Murtagh fell to the ground, burning with fever, and his hotness.

"Damn it" he mumbled.

**oOoOoOoOo**

10 minutes have passed since the scene before, and Murtagh is still lying on the damp forest floor.

Eragon, our supposedly dashing protagonist was staring at him, probing Murtagh with a stick every few hours. Which meant that he hasn't probed him, at all, because it has only been 10 minutes.

His perfectly sculpted face was now stained with mud, and amidst all the drama all Eragon could say was, "Are you okay?"

Although with the pale, slightly blue-tinted face, weary eyes, and the foam coming out of his mouth, in Eragon's mind, being the monkey with an imperfect evolution he is, Murtagh looked healthy as ever.

"Rapunzel", he mumbled, confusing Eragon with his sudden outburst, "Let down your pre-e-e-ty long hair down so I can climb it!!"

He stood up, resumed a heroic position, and then fell on the pile of mud again, this time unconscious, although a mumbling came out of his dry lips right before his eyelids dawned.

"I want hair like your pwe-e-e-ty hair"

Eragon was dumb-founded, as he has always been. He stared once again at Murtagh's face, now turning a wonderful shade of purple that many purple-lovers in the world would want as their prom dress color, or tux.

Yet, no avail!

Murtagh just laid there, more foam coming out. His face was like a blend of blue, white and red, although the color was not as vibrant as the crayon-painted faces of many France fans during the world cup, it was still an awkward color.

Yup, the soup was indeed poisonous, and if not, it would have been just venomous. Not that it was any difference.

Long seconds passed. Eragon stayed there, still as dumb-founded as ever, and still the quarter-wit Neanderthal ape who hasn't evoluted yet. After 15 minutes of processing the sight, in which Murtagh had a high fever, an authentic multi-colored face, a foaming mouth, and other ill-defining conditions, Eragon finally said, "I guess he's not okay"

"I better take him up to a healer"

**oOoOoOoOo**

Angela, our beloved herbalist who I presume all of you know of, stood beside Murtagh, a dark expression painted on her fair face.

"Tell me", her voice was candy coated venom, "What did you feed him?"

Eragon shrank back with terror to her unusual rage, "Wha-? Me?"

"We all know him too well to be foolish enough and eat all this poisonous things, all thanks to his dazzling looks of epic proportions, so it must be you, considering that you're much more of a quarter-wit Neanderthal un-evoluted monkey than he is!"

Eragon tried, but he will not forfeit to this comment, no matter how true it was!

Acting all sappy, even if he really WAS sappy, he pointed his finger at Angela and said a random word, "JUNK BUSINESS!!"

Which was not exactly random seeing as Angela's place was so cramped, so full of her freaky 'herbalist' tools enough for it to look like a mini junk yard.

Angela, being also random and being a HUGE phantom of the opera fans, immediately retorted and fixed the 'junk' word into, "scrap metal, actually" But then she realized that he really meant it, and changed to the supposed retaliation, " MEDICINES YOU NEED"

Eragon would not let his quarter-wit Neanderthal un-evoluted monkey mind to be defeated. At least not yet.

But alas! Murtagh suddenly sat up and threw up right at Eragon's shirt, which was dirty anyway, but still.

"Hey my shirt!"

Angela tried to contain her fits of laughter, succeeding only in saying some incoherent mumbling that was later deciphered as "funny, I don't see the difference"

"What did he feed you?"

"A vile chicken soup", then, a thunderous blast of smelly air exploded, and Murtagh rushed to find the toilet.

Eragon stood holding his nose closed, while Angela, being closer to the poisonous gas Murtagh had emitted through his bottom –cough- was standing as still as a statue.

"Eraaa-aa-g-o-nn", a whimpering sound sounded from the bathroom, followed by a few unpleasant sounds, accompanied by the foul smell of the "business".

Angela cleared her throat and asked, "What did you put in the soup? Where did you cook it? Why did you put such vile things in it? When did you plan it? What did you think you were doing? HOW DID YOU EVEN GET THE IDEA?!!"

"Wow, you memorized the 5w+h? I failed English!"

"I DON'T CARE, JUST ANSWER THE DAMNED QUESTIONS YOU HALF-ASSED LOSER!"

"Um.. What's the first question again?"

"What did you put in the "chicken soup"?"

"Um… 3 spoons of cyanide, an extract of the pretty flower that had the really cool name deadly night shade, a papaya from last year's harvest, something from the small box filled with sand and black beads, 1 KGs of last months food scraps, 2 ounces of termites, the cockroaches that fell into the soup while I'm cooking it, something I found outside Saphira's cage, some stuff I found in the back of the closet, the blackberries I found under the rabbit's cage, a cobweb, and a tiny slice of chicken I found on the floor"

Angela remained silent, obviously quite speechless, although not shocked considering the mental condition of our beloved protagonist.

"Plus a tiny drop of my sweat and my hair that had not been cleaned for the last 5 years" added Eragon with a white dent smile like the people in the tooth paste advertisement.

Wait. That's not a white dent smile at all!

The whiteness of his teeth couldn't hide the rotting cavities on his back row. Plus there are lice and termites crawling about across his teeth with the rotting smell of garbage. Wait a minute. Those aren't lice or termites!! They're full grown SLUGS. And the spaces between his teeth are just so wide that the teeth are all disordered.

Oh god. How the hell is he the protagonist? But fear not, because we shall change that!!

Flush. Flush. Flush. Groan. Flush. Disgusting abominable noises coming from the bathroom. More flushes. Flush. Flush.

"50, 51", Eragon mumbled. His facial expression pointed out that he was listening to something.

Finally, after a few moments, Angela regained her normal state. "What are you doing?"

"I'm counting how many times Murtagh's flushed the toilet, boy, that stomach ache must've given him quite a nasty dia… Um…"

Eragon scratched his head; pieces of dandruff falling out as his fingers raked through his hair, looking for the right word.

"Diarrhea", Angela corrected.

"Isn't it diary?"

"No"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes"

"Are you sure that you are sure?"

Angela raised an eyebrow.

"Because I think it's diary"

"No it's not, repeat after me, "D-I-A-R-R-H-E-A"

"Diary"

Angela was quite aggravated now, "diarrhea!"

"IT'S DIARY"

Angela shook her head in distress.

Eragon bellowed, "IT'S DIARY IT HAS TO BE!!"

"It's diarrhea dear', Angela sighed with exasperation.

"I'M THE RIDER AND I SAY IT'S DIARY!!"

At this point Angela gave up. The half-wit Neanderthal monkey was too much for the sake of her patience.

Murtagh's oh-so-dashing face popped up behind the door.

"AH! Finally you're finished!!"

Murtagh was about to respond but the taste of bile was rising up his throat again. And so once again the bathroom door slammed closed; leaving Eragon and Angela confused. _What the hell?_

_Flush. Flush. Flush._

_Flu-_

Murtagh was furiously shaking the flush; but alas, no water came out.

"YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"Murtagh?"

"AAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

"I say we break the door open!" Eragon said, thinking that Murtagh was being attacked by something; if that something be enemies or the monstrous smell of his excreted objects.

"And let that toxic smell kill us slowly; no way!" Angela said.

But before any of the two could open the door; Murtagh had came to his senses and rushed out the door; breaking the door and breaking a few bones of those trapped beneath the door (e.g. Eragon and Angela).

-By this time the jaws theme song is playing on the background, just for added tension-

So, dearest readers, what do you do if you're badly in need of a toilet and the water supply is out? Look for a river of course!

Now in the town where we live in, it made no difference anymore what fell into the river, as it is already deadly and toxic, not to mention the murkiness of the water, which is sure to hide the objects beneath. Now if you don't believe us, google the name "sungai sungai di Jakarta" and we are optimist that you shall find my words true.

Now with full speed (and an underpants; whether it be briefs or boxers but personal information of famous people shouldn't be given out in the internet, full of crap), Murtagh ran to the nearest river he could find. Like in princess mononoke, everything he stepped on died.

By this time, the population of the sick within a square mile radius of his exact location are dying, or are dead.

But Murtagh wasn't done yet; because if he was, the story would end here and it wouldn't be as repulsive and plain idiotic as we had planned it to be.

He spilled brown "whipped cream" helplessly, squatting beside the now not blue anymore water like a dumb oaf. Wait, he IS a dumb oaf, at least in this story he is.

I know you're all wondering where Eragon and Angela is, well, since the door broke a few of their bones (you see, the ancient doors were heavy), they were too inefficient to run away from the smell that was emitted the moment the door flung open; thus they both are now deceased and Murtagh is the only protagonist (or maybe antagonist) to this story.

Ouch. It is sad.

Eragon and Angela fans are given this paragraph to mourn, and then we continue the story. The mourning may commence.

The mourning ends; now Galbatorix fans are given a chance to think about what will happen to the antagonist/next victim of this story.

**oOoO Galbatorix's Palace OoOo**

"Your Majesty, we have reports of a toxic waste polluting the country ad killing many live stocks and humans at a very fast rate; the last report stated that it is only 9 miles away"

Galbatorix raised an eyebrow, " for all the years I've ruled not once have there been a problem like this, it's always been armies and rebels and riders, but not toxic waste", he sighed, "I'm a dictator not an environmentalist! Tell me Durza, who is the cause of this pollution"

"Murtagh son of Morzan"

"I see, I want him dead, send the crew in SWAT's bomb squad uniform with the darth vader like mask to avoid the smell"

"It melts under the smell sir" Galbatorix sighed, he replied " send those who has a cold"

"sir their immune systems are already to weak"

"THEN KILL HIM YOURSELF", at that sentence he started smelling some strange incense, "WHAT THE HELL IS THI-"

BLAM.

And so dies Galbatorix, meanest of them all, and with him the whole nation he claimed as his. Murtagh? He was too clumsy, and he fell, tumbling down into the 'water'.


End file.
